


Mirage

by wildair7



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 16:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13838580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: When Spock disappears on Merath XIV, the location of an exceptional Science facility, library and labs, Kirk and others of The Enterprise go searching for him. But what happens next is not what it appears to be.





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> I'd previously posted there were two more "chapters" but discovered upon transcribing them these were a continuation of the story which I had submitted to a publisher as the first four chapters of a Star Trek novel, which was rejected and I never finished. Sorry.

**Mirage**

By

 

Janelle Holmes

(June 3, 1976)

 

    James T Kirk, Starfleet Captin, could scarce believe he’d allowed himself to fall into such a common trap like this. But, nevertheless, here he sat imprisoned.

     He’d accompanied the stranger without question, following him into the dark alley, where he soon lost all consciousness.

     The _Enterprise_ Captain rubbed his left shoulder. The needle prick there still ached, unlike the usual aftereffect of a hypospray injection.

     His mind remained clear, but he had no idea where was nor who his captors were. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have helped. As far as he could tell, he sat sealed in a cube of some kind—virtually no visible opening. Then there was the light—it seemed to come from no where to illuminate the cubicle. Kirk pressed against the walls with his hands, testing the soft, elastic material. Then, giving up, he sat down in one of the pillow-like corners and directed his mind to the past events—or at least as far as he remembered them.

     He and four security personnel had gone down searching for Spock, whose report remained five hours overdue, after taking some of his accumulated leave time to visit the science library on Merath XIV. Since the _Enterprise_ had come there for repairs at Starbase Twelve, Kirk readily granted his First Officer permission. He even suggested Dr. McCoy accompany Spock, although the doctor refused, his excuse being the catching up with a private research project he’d begun some months previous.

     When the search party arrived at the Merathian Science Complex, the scholars there denied Spock had ever arrived. This was when one of the visiting scientists, an Andorian, gestured Kirk aside.

     “Captain Kirk, I believe I might know where to find the Vulcan, but you must come alone.”

     Kirk turned to the rest of the party. “Continue the search, and I’ll report in a few hours.” That said, he followed the Andorian out of the building.

     He remembered the red glare of Merath causing him to shield his eyes as he emerged from the building, the Andorian taking his arm and guiding him into the comforting shadows.

     “Is it far from here?” Kirk asked.

     “Not far, not far at all. It will not be long, now.”

     Then Kirk felt the needle sting his shoulder, and as suddenly as the needle found its mark, the dark alley darkened more, until he could see nothing, hearing only two voices—a man and a woman’s, he thought at first. Their words alien to him, he didn’t know what they said but did know the language was none he’d heard before, not Romulan, Vulcan, Klingon, Andorian, Tellorite nor any other. In fact, what they spoke bore nothing in common with any of the linguistic groups of the Galaxy. But he could tell by the tone of their voices the women—yes, most distinctly the voices belonged to two women—were angry. And then he’d awakened in this cushioned cube.

     If only Spock were here,” he said aloud, “his logical mind would think of how to get out.” But Spock wasn’t there, and Kirk didn’t know where he might be.

     A voice echoed from somewhere beyond the cub, one he understood easily, but genderless in tone. “Are you aware of your surroundings, Human?”

     Kirk’s eyes searched the heights of the cube for some sign of speakers or other devices. “Yes,” he answered, drawing out the single word, “I am aware.”  His eyes still searched the blank walls.

     “We would like to further examine you, now you are no longer artificially influenced.”

     “Who are you?” asked Kirk, rising to his feet. “Where am I? Where is this place?”

     “Your questions are irrelevant, Human, however if you cooperate, we will refer them to the Superiors.”

     “The Superiors?”

     “No concern of yours, I assure you. Are you prepared mentally to cooperate?”

     Kirk rubbed his aching shoulder again, muttering to himself, “Do I have a choice?” The words were barely audible but not unheard.

     “You ask another question, Human, but one I can answer. No, you do not have a choice. If you refuse, we will resort to other means.”

     “I see,” the human replied, dropping his hands to his side. “In that case, I am prepared.”

     “That is well. Stand against the wall behind you, back to it, hands stretched at right angles to your body, feet forty-five centimeters apart?”

     He did, as ordered, whereupon “things” began probing his back and sides, as the soft walls half engulfed him. At first, he resisted then, realizing the futility, relaxed to the wall’s movements. Next, he was instructed to face the wall in the same position, and the process began once more. This time, from nowhere, mechanical hands descended from the ceiling and floor, grasping his arms and legs, while other hands equipped with needles drained blood, bone marrow, and other body fluids from his person. And, like the needle prick in the alley, these also left sensations of pain.

     The voice from without spoke again. “The examination is complete.”

     Afterwards, the mechanical hands disappeared into their respective areas of origin, leaving the cube’s surfaces unmarred.

     A minute passed and another in silence. Kirk could hear his own heartbeat, feel that organ thudding against his chest cavity, and then he was no longer alone.

     A circle of light, two meters across, glowed on the wall opposite him, the material of the cube within growing thinner and thinner, less opaque until it became transparent and disappeared completely. Three blue figures stood outside, then stepped, single file, through a now circular opening in the facing wall. These three, of normal height, rather slim, were unidentifiable as to sex, if they had any, for each wore a garment identical to the others.

     The clothes consisted of one piece, covering the head, neck, arms and hands in a tight casing, but the remainder the garment flowed loosely about the body to the floor. On the casing about the head, only the eyes remained uncovered, and through those openings, James Kirk could see blood red orbs, piercing--the unnatural eyes of an albino rat.

     As the aliens stood there, three abreast in front of Kirk, studying him without touching, they left the opening unbarred, as though daring him to leave this cubicle prison. Because of this obvious temptation, Kirk glanced at their persons. He could see no sign of weapons but remained wary. The figure nearest the door looked at the others then advanced slowly toward the Human, coming purposefully to stand a scant few inches in front of him.

     This time the red eyes were level with his own, and met Kirk’s intently, steadily, unquiveringly delving into his soul. Kirk could neither blink nor open his mouth to speak. Then, he found himself outside the cube, two of the same three, blue figures walking beside him, down an even darker blue corridor, blue lights flooding all with indigo hue.

     He looked at his own unbound hands. Even they were blue.

     “Who are you? Where am I?” Kirk repeated his previous question, looking from one to the other flanking him.

     As before there came no answer.

     “Probably don’t understand me, do you, although the other voice did. What was that?”

     Still, none responded, not even to look his way.

     The threesome continued in silence, down inclines, up ramps, up stairs and down they travelled. After the fourth ramp, Kirk stopped suddenly, trying to elbow the man behind him, hoping it would cause the other to be caught off guard and also subdued by him, but found his arms unable to move, leaving him more puzzled than before. Neither before nor afterward did he have trouble moving them. In result, the aliens nudged him to resume their endless journey.

     Finally, they came to a room filled with light so dark a blue the blue-clothed figures nearly blended into obscurity.  Another figure which Kirk thought wore a robe, fashioned like the others, except black in color, stood before them and looked briefly at those escorting him, who left immediately, leaving Kirk alone with the new stranger.

     This alien placed two fingers of its right hand upon its forehead, then drew the fingers gently over the nose and down the chin. Prior to both hands peeling away the face covering to reveal pale flesh and closely cut, shiny white hair.

     “We wear facecloths to protect ourselves from unknowns,” it explained, “but you have been sterilized and can no longer infect us, so they are no longer needed. Please, sit,” he said, indicating a nearby chair which hadn’t existed before.

     Kirk obeyed.

     “You have many questions, I understand, but they must wait. Now, you must answer our questions. Do you understand?”

     “Of course,” Kirk said with a nod.

     “Good.” The alien’s pale eyes, once covered by what had been another type of red blinked, erasing a glassy covering from them. “I was not sure I had correctly assimilated your language.” The almost feminine face wrinkled in concentration. “We are new here in your galaxy, so we must be discrete. We must learn before we accidentally harm our specimens. Therefore, it was necessary to neutralize your aggressive tendencies. Physically, your species is superior to ours. That is the reason you were unable to subdue your escorts. You cannot blame us for equalizing the differences, so we may speak on equal terms.” 

     Kirk rubbed his chin, where beard stubble provided a rough surface. “Yes, I think I understand your position.” He leaned forward. “May I know your name, something to call you by?”

     “Name,” the alien said squinting in confusion. “Name? Ah, yes.” The grey eyes brightened. “Actually, we have no names, only titles, since only a sole living entity in our culture may possess a title at any given time.” This entity’s slender hand gestured in practiced formality, again touching its forehead.  “My title is that of Zlethas. I am a scientist, a forerunner, so to speak. We test alien species before mass contact is made.”

     “If you wish, you may call me James Kirk. My title is Captain in our galaxy, although I’m not the only one.”

     “How inefficient.” The alien turned, ending the conversation. “You are weary. Go now and join your friend.”

     “My friend?” asked Kirk, rising.

     “Yes, I believe he is native to the planet you call Vulcan. He also had a name. Spock, I believe, title of Commander.”

     “Spock, here?” Kirk was aghast.

     “Oh, yes,” the alien said, turning back, “a fascinating creature. We shall study him further. You, as well. You may go now.”

     The three blue-clothed figures stood close by, waiting. Kirk knew they hadn’t been there a moment before—almost as if the Zlethas had “thought” their presence to escort him away.

     James Kirk was a careful man in such circumstances, especially when he knew his characteristic rash behavior would be “neutralized. He left quietly.

     When he had gone, the Zlethas’ brow wrinkled again. “Oh, dear, I forgot to ask him the questions. I suppose Azoth must do it now.”

 

     Minutes later, a room opened in the same manner as the cube and close, sealing him inside. On a bench against the right wall sat Spock, still wearing his blue Science tunic, black trousers and boots. The light here bathed everything in white, so colors appeared as they would normally.

     Seeing him, Kirk rushed to the Vulcan’s side and touched his shoulder. “Spock! How did you end up here?”

     The First Officer looked up at his commander, holding his hand to his throat.

     “Your voice?” asked Kirk. “You can’t speak?”

     The Vulcan nodded, dark eyes shining with unspoken pain.

     “But how? Did the aliens do it?”

     Spock hesitated, lowered his eyes, then nodded slowly, raising them to Kirk, again.

     “What did they do to you?”      In answer, the other shook his head.

     “Your friend is unable to speak due to an experiment we performed on the speech centers of his brain. The affect is temporary.” It was the disembodied voice, still clinically unemotional and computer-like.

     Kirk cast his eyes to the ceiling of the room, but in vain. It remained as blank as the one in the soft cubicle. To his left, the wall dilated, and three blue figures entered, taking Kirk’s arm and leading him out of the room.

     Spock threw a leg up on the bench and leaned back, arms folded across his chest, an unnatural smile curling his lips in amusement.

 

     “Stardate Eighty-three-hundred-twenty-four. Ship’s log. Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott recording.

     “Left in charge of the _Enterprise_ , I have redoubled the strength of the search party for Commander Spock, because now two additional officers are missing besides the First Officer: Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura. Thirty hours have passed since Mr. Spock failed to report in, fifteen for the captain and twelve for Lieutenant Uhura. At least two of these disappeared sometime after reaching Merath Fourteen.” Chief Engineer Scotty pressed the button which switched off the recorder and contemplated what he’d said.

     No one knew when Uhura had vanished, and as far as anyone could determine, she’d not left the ship.

     “Sure you haven’t seen her, any of you?” he asked again, probably the twelfth since the search had begun.

     “No, sir,” Sulu answered. “She left the Bridge after her shift, a few minutes late, too, come to think of it, and we all supposed she went to her quarters.”

     “Aye, that is her usual procedure from what I’ve learned, except no one saw her near them, and that’s the odd thing. The corridors are usually heavily traveled that time of day. It’s strange no one saw her.”

      “Well, where was she last seen after duty?” queried McCoy, making his presence known, as usual.

     Scotty turned to him, shaking his head. “I dinna ken. No one saw her leave the lift—on any of the decks.”

     “What about Jim?” McCoy asked.

     “The search party left him at the Science Complex with an Andorian. That’s another odd thing,” the Scot said, pointing a finger. “No oone on Merath Fourteen, except our party, saw the Andorian or has seen any Andorian for weeks.” Scott gestured toward the viewscreen, which displayed the spinning gray mass of Merath XIV. “’Pon my ancestral oath, if it weren’t for that new Starfleet Regulation forbidding more than two of the highest officers off ship at once, I’d have gone down there and looked for myself.”

 

     The room which Kirk entered, assisted by two of the three aliens, the third at some place in the journey falling mysteriously behind, stood flushed in dark red light, except for a raised portion surrounded entirely by a glass or plasticene wall and spotlighted in white. At the base of the platform, a circular, sunken area held two small transparent cubes.

     Once again, Kirk was left alone. Minutes later, a slight breeze chilled his right ear. A crackle of energy broke the eerie silence, and the raised surface dimmed then brightened to reveal a scantily red-clad figure, one most decidedly female. Her eyes slanted ovals of green, her eyebrows covered by scrollwork painted in silver, and with hair flaming copper in color, he found the color of her skin indescribable, being altogether metallic. Not gold, nor silver, nor any shade known to man, it glowed with blues, reds, greens, shimmering and constantly changing from a dominance of one to another.

     She stepped from the raised area, the gauzy, long scarlet-colored loincloth of her attire floating aside to kiss her long, shapely legs as she descended.

     “Captain James Kirk, you are?” she said, lips barely moving as she spoke, a statement more than a question.

     “Yes, I’m James Kirk. And who are you?” Kirk asked, moving closer to examine this beautiful creature.

     “Who or what, James Kirk?” Her eyes surveyed his body. “Do you know what I am?” She walked around him, undressing him with her cold eyes. “As for who I am, personal identities are irrelevant in our worlds.”

     “So, then, the Zlethas I met and you aren’t from the same world?” he said, trying to ignore her obviously intimate appraisal.

     She stopped in front of him, meeting his eyes, almost making him want to turn away. “Quite observant for a human. But, no, we are not. Our species are not even distantly related, although they have merged politically for research such as we conduct here.”

     “But where are you from? Surely not this galaxy,” Kirk parried.

     “Correct.” She leaned against the wall which circled the higher area. “My race is known throughout the Universe, except for here.” Her pale, slender hand, with its inch-long silver nails played with the wire globe at her throat as she continued to explain. “The name is untranslatable to your language and would mean nothing to you, at any rate, for by the time your people make voluntary contact with mine, many generations will have come and gone.” She left the wall to arrange herself on one of the cubes, motioning for him to do the same. “Our race is old, James Kirk, older than the race to which the Zlethas belongs. I see it’s our use of yourself and the other here is what you truly question, however.”

     “Yes, I had wondered, but the voice I keep hearing told me it would not answer my questions.”

     “That is also correct, but I may, if I wish. And I do not.”

     “Then why…,” he asked, leaning forward.

     “I told you I would not answer!” She rose and walked about the area, anxiously. “This Federation of yours…do you believe in all its principles?”

     “Not all.” Kirk replied, his lips relaxing into a slight smile.

     “And if you had the chance to better your position in another government, would you?”

     “Of course,” he said, smiling broader. “I’m not stupid.”

     She sat again on the same cube. “You continue to wonder about me?” Her eyes were now the color of blue green jade.

     “Naturally,” he answered, unable to ignore her hypnotizing orbs.

     “It is not important for you to understand me, James Kirk, only for me to understand you. As I have said before, I will not tolerate your inquisitions.”

     “But if--?”

     “You begin another question. Please refrain. Your attempts are futile.” She leaned back, arms bracing her body and the hand of her other arm stroking her naked thigh. “If you must know, however, I have considered taking you back with me to my own galaxy. You would be quite an attraction there. Now,” she said straightening, “I begin to reconsider. You Humans have an overactive curiosity factor, I had not anticipated, a trait which seems to run rampant in all species within this galaxy.”

     “We’ve survived well with that particular traits, perhaps even because of it.”

     “But how much longer? No, I fear this galaxy is doomed because of it.”

     “Naturally, I hope you are wrong.”

     “Naturally, you would.” The woman rose and started toward the platform, and Kirk hurried to catch up, reaching for her arm.

     She whirled about. “Do not touch me!”

     “I merely wanted to get your attention,” Kirk explained, hands wide in forgiveness.

     “If you touch me, you die.”

     “Why? Is it forbidden?”

     “Not precisely. The natural secretions of my skin are poisonous to those not of my species.”

     “Poisonous?”

     “Yes. Do you Humans know nothing of the danger of meddling with unfamiliar species?” Without waiting for his answer, she stepped onto the center of the platform, and the light dimmed and then brightened. She was gone.

 

     Uhura found herself paralyzed in darkness, suddenly off the Enterprise, suddenly captive. And, just as surely as her entire body was paralyzed, so too was her voice. For, if she could have screamed, she would, so thick did the darkness engulf her, as when the lights are turned off during a cavern tour, or when one is locked in a closet. Helpless…alone…frightened…terrorized by what might be out there—waiting.

     A light illuminated what she could now see as a cube, and Spock standing a few feet away. Uhura slumped to the floor in relief.

     The Vulcan’s face, uncharacteristically stern but a bit too friendly, nonetheless, bent over her. Seeing him so close, Uhura found her voice had returned. “Mr. Spock! Thank goodness, it’s you.”

     Spock shook his head.

     “I don’t understand,” answered Uhura.

     The Vulcan put a hand to his throat, just as he had in Kirk’s presence.

     “Oh, you can’t talk.” With Spock’s help, Uhura gained her feet. “Isn’t there some way out of here?” she asked, gazing about what she now perceived as a confining metallic cube.

     Again, the Vulcan shook his head. Just then one of the walls disappeared, leaving a perfect circle in the shiny surface. Two blue-clothed figures entered, took a weakly struggling Uhura between them and left.

     As before, the Vulcan smiled in unnatural satisfaction.

 

     “Mr. Scott,” the communication’s officer on duty reported, “we’re receiving a message…from Commander Spock!”

     “Well, just don’t sit there, laddie. Get it on the blower.” Soctty rushed to the nearest audio outlet from where he stood near the engineering console, where a red=tuniced underling monitored the engine readouts.

     “Scott here.”

     “Mr. Scott, this is Commander Spock.”

     “Yes, go on, Mr. Spock.”

     “I seem to find myself in a regrettable situation, from which it may take some time to eradicate myself.”

     “You’re in trouble?”

     “I did not say I was in ‘trouble,’ as you so crudely put it. I am merely detained.”

     “But we’ve been searching for you for over three days.”

     “My actions are not answerable to you, Mr. Scott. My affairs are my own. I shall return to the ship three hours hence.”

     “Are the Captain and Lieutenant Uhura with you, sir?”

     “Should they be?”

     “Well, no, guess not. But the Captain disappeared while looking for you, and I thought—”

     “I fear you have arrived at your erroneous conclusion much too hastily, Mr. Scott. I am sure the Captain and the lieutenant are perfectly safe.”

     “I certainly hope so.” Scotty sighed.

     “You have performed the usual investigative procedures,” returned the Vulcan’s voice.

     “Of course, but—”

     Once more, he was interrupted. “Then I suggest you continue them until my arrival. Commander Spock out.”

     The head engineer turned to McCoy and the other Bridge personnel, who’d been listening closely to the conversation with the Vulcan First Officer. His brown wrinkled in puzzlement, his eyes bewildered, Scotty shook his head to clear the confusion he felt.

     “Well, you heard him. Continue the search. Those are our orders.”

    McCoy rubbed his chin in contemplation then, without a word, left the Bridge.

 

     Uhura found herself alone in the red room with the woman of metallic-hued skin. The alien walked slowly around the Negress, with stalking, cat-like grace, closely examining every feature of Uhura’s form. Finally, she retraced her steps, still gliding and scrutinizing even more.

     “Are you considered desirable by the males of your species?” she asked.

     “Well, I…” Uhura stammered, “I don’t know. I’ve always considered myself somewhat attractive. I hope I’m desirable. What woman wouldn’t?” she answered, half-laughing nervously.

     “You have evaded my question. No matter.” The emerald eyes turned toward the far wall of the ruby-hued cube, where a sudden circular doorway appeared, and Kirk walked hesitantly through it into the blood-red light of the cubical.

    Upon seeing Uhura, he came quickly to her side, began to speak, but in some way was silenced by the threatening eyes of the alien woman.

    She pointed an incriminating finger at first Kirk then Uhura as she spoke. “You, James Kirk, do you find this woman desirable?”

     Uhura and Kirk faced each other. She shook her head slightly in warning, but Kirk unafraid, faced the alien, calmly placing his hands behind his back, and delivered words crisp and certain.

     “Yes, I would say she is desirable.”

     The alien woman clenched her fists. “I did not ask of you this. I asked if _you_ found her desirable.”

     “Me?” said Kirk, pointing at himself, surprised. “Me!” He glanced at Uhura momentarily then again to the other woman. “Frankly, I find you more desirable to me than she is.” Kirk turned to face Uhura. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

     The alien seemed confused, as though she hadn’t expected such an answer. At last, she turned her back on the two of them.

     “Go, both, and remember…resistance is useless.”

     Four blue figures came into the cube, two each taking Uhura and Kirk in separate directions.

     When they had left, the alien raised her hand into the air, plucking from the very atmosphere a small disk and placed it to her shiny cheek. “Tlezal, I must speak to you, here, at once.”

   

     The First Officer of the _Enterprise_ arrived on schedule, duly greeted by Cmdr. Scott and Dr. McCoy.

     “We’ve all been worried sick, Mr. Spock, ever since you failed to report in on time.”

     “I’m here, now, so your worry is illogical.”

     The three men left the main Transporter Room for the Bridge, McCoy a shadow in the background, never saying a word, merely observing.

     “Do we have orders from Starfleet regarding our next mission?” asked the Vulcan as they entered the turbo lift.

     “Yes, sir,” Scotty replied, “to Magnus Eight, but don’t you think…I mean, you’re not planning to leave Merath Fourteen, not with Uhura and the Captain still missing?”

     “Our duty is to the Fleet, Mr. Scott. We have done all we can to locate the Captain and Lieutenant Uhura. From now on, finding them is left to the local authorities.”

     “But, Mr. Spock—”     

     The Vulcan left the turbo lift and stepped onto the Bridge, ordering, “Set course for Magnus Eight, Mr. Sulu,” then sat, taking command—complete command—of the _Enterprise._

  Sulu turned in his chair to study the First Officer in amazement.

     “You have your orders, Mister!” snapped the Vulcan.

     “Yes, sir, Mr. Spock.” He swiveled his chair to its forward position. “Setting course for Magnus Eight.” His attention returned to his console, Sulu plotted the course for their next mission in the absence of the navigator.

 

     “Tlazal, you are here at last,” said the woman in relief. “What has taken you so long?”

     “I was monitoring the prisoners,” the tall, dark man answered in a deep voice. “Surely, that takes precedence over anything you might say.”

     The woman walked down the steps into the sunken area of the red cube where the man stood, proud in his silver skinsuit, shoulder length hair flowing onto broad shoulders. “I am concerned about the human male, or I would punish you for your impudence. I believe he has lied to me.”

     “You believe? With all your mental powers, you should be certain.”

     She turned and looked at him, the slanted eyebrows which revealed the very wickedness of his species. Meeting his dark eyes made her uneasy.

     “It is true,” she answered, “that my mind can project any image, even to the point of making those images solid reality, but I cannot read many minds, much less those of these illogical Humans. You did not tell me I would have to deal with such a species.”

     “Azoth, my lovely,” he said, half-smiling, cupping her chin and lifting it, “would you have come if I had told you?”

     She looked away. “You were dishonest with me. On my world you would be executed for such deceit.”

     “But we are not on Mistera; we are here. You are no longer in your galaxy but mine.”

     “And how much longer must I remain in yours?”

     “Not much longer. Would you not stay, simply to be with me?”

     She glared at him, disdainfully.

     “Ah, I forgot, again,” Tlazal replied at her reaction. “It is difficult to remember even this is not your true form, for it is such a lovely one.” A smile curled his cruel lips. “However, the Romulan Empire could provide you with many luxuries not available on Misterna, ones desirable to any sex…or non-sex.”

     Azoth ignored his inferred comment. “Was the control I placed on the Vulcan sufficient?”

     “Yes.” The man relinquished argument. “The monitor shows he is performing as programed. The _Enerprise_ left orbit one hour ago. In two more, my ship will be here to pick up the Humans, and then…”

     “And then you shall have two of the most valuable officers in the Federation Fleet in your sole control.”

     “Correct.”

     “Why that particular female?”

     “My secret, sweet Azoth, and one I may not reveal to you.”

     “Do you not trust me?” she asked, suddenly all female.

     “Of course, I trust you. It is simply my orders were given without reason from higher up. Even I do not know why she is wanted.”

     “Order from whom?”

     “Azoth, for someone neither Human nor Romulan, you seem to possess the overactive curiosity of one concerning the affairs of the other.”

     “You begin to bore me, Tlazal. I shall stay and listen to you no more.” She turned and mounted the steps to the platform, and once in position, the lights dimmed then returned to their normal brilliance, leaving emptiness.

     The Romulan placed his hands on his hips, gazing about the room. “Azoth, Azoth, who would ever believe you are neither male nor female, when you can so convincingly portray both—even if tested to the fullest. It is good there are no more like you, or what a sad place this existence would be. Maybe some day I shall have you make me a lovely image of yourself for my companion.”

     “You are presumptuous, Tlazal,” said a genderless voice from Nowhere. “I have no intention of thinking you any image for your personal solace.”

     “Your pardon, Azoth…or should I call you Zlethas, or perhaps Spock?” he asked sarcastically, as much as he was able.

     “You are dismissed, Tlazal.”

     “This once, I shall go, but you shall not be so easily rid of me in the future. In the future, you will need me, Azoth.”

     No answer answered his threat, and he lifted his chin in the air, knowing no matter how strong her powers, he was Azoth’s superior, the same as his race was superior to all others.

 

     The _Enterprise_ hurtled toward Magnus VIII at Warp Six; Spock still sat in the command chair, signing status reports, fuel consumption sheets, and other such documents. None of the other Bridge personnel nor officers mentioned leaving Kirk and Uhura somewhere on or near Merath XIV, least of all “Bones” McCoy.

     The doctor stood near the communication’s console, arms folded across his blue chest, while he continued his observation of the newly-returned First Officer. Even during the brief radio conversation with Scotty, McCoy noticed Spock’s unusual behavior, more so than usual, in his prejudiced opinion. He couldn’t put a finger on what bothered him about the man’s behavior, but as he watched the man, sitting so calmly in the command chair, he seemed very unSpockian. Was that a legitimate word? Probably not. Did he care? No, because it described the Vulcan’s untypical condition precisely.

     “Mr. Chekov, what is our present position,” the one he watched asked, coldly militaristic.

     “Five parsecs, sir, to Magnus Eight on our current course.”

     Spock nodded in acceptance. “Change course to bearing seven-five-three point eight-three, Mark fourteen.”

     “Mr. Spock,” countered Sulu, turning, “that’s directly into Romulan Star Empire territory from here.”

    The Vulcan pushed up from his seat, hands gripping the arm rests with whitened fingers. “Do you presume to countermand my order, Lieutenant Sulu?”

     “No, sir, I thought maybe you weren’t aware, that’s all.”

     “I am perfectly aware! Do you believe me a moronic idiot?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Then follow my order!”

     “Course laid in, bearing seven-five-three point eight-three, Mark fourteen,” Chekov repeated, staring intently at his instruments.

     The Vulcan relaxed once more into the softness of his chair. “Noted. Increase speed to Warp Seven.”

     This time, Scotty’s brow wrinkled in anger, but by now, he knew enough to hold his tongue, so checked the engine’s gauges to be sure they could take the extra strain and muttered to himself in Gaelic.

     Taking advantage of the tense situation, McCoy directed a modified mediscanner toward Spock’s back. The changes he’d made to the device allowed it to operate silently and at farther than normal range. Even so, he couldn’t be certain the Vulcan’s sensitive hearing wouldn’t hear the instrument.

     All he needed was a few minutes for achieving the necessary reading, and he got them, although what appeared consisted of nothing more than normal Vulcan status. He concealed the mediscanner under his tunic and resumed his previous position.

     “Doctor McCoy,” said Spock, his voice not a single decibel above normal level, “if you have no business on the Bridge, will you please return to your duty station. From this moment forward, unauthorized personnel shall not be allowed on the Bridge. That includes you. Is that clear?”

     “I was leaving anyway…Commander.”

     The Vulcan made no notice of the doctor’s unusual use of his military title.

 

     “Azoth,” the Romulan Tlazal said, entering the red-flooded domain of the transforming alien. “Azoth, my ship is here.”

     “So, why tell me?” she hissed, not so much as glancing up from where she sat in the sunken area as he neared her.

     “You have decided not to come?”

     “No reason I should.” Her eyes were closed, head titled back, as if half-asleep. “Everything I require is here. What can your government offer which I do not already have?”

     He sat beside her. “Nothing, I suppose. Do you plan to return to Mistera?”

     “Perhaps. Perhaps not. My talents could be utilized elsewhere, as well as here.”

     “True.” Tlazal knew this unusual creature wiliness. Her words could seldom be taken at face value. While she spoke of the evils of deceit, she had no qualms when she was the one who deceived.

     Now, she spoke again. “You will find the Humans ready for transfer.”

     “Drugged?” he asked, still attempting to figure out her game.

     “In a sense. Actually, they will not know what is happening for many hours later.”

 

     Spock eyed the chronometer closely, studying, carefully noting the elapse of time since rejoining the crew. The _Enterprise_ lay deep in Romulan space, without seeing a single Romulan ship. Still, the Bridge crew was uneasy. Speed now reduced to sub-light, the starship drifted in the blackness. This the crew knew. What the crew didn’t know was their first officer was waiting…waiting for the Romulan ship carrying Kirk and Uhura.

     The chronometer clicked off 22:47:35. At 22:47:37, Spock gave the order, “Ahead, Warp Factor One.”

     In response, the _Enterprise_ left the space of three dimensions and leapt into the other of warp drive. And there, awaiting them, they found the orange bird of prey glowing on her ventral hull: the Romulan warship, _Cresas._

 

     “There she is, Sub-Commander Tlazal,” the navigator of the Romulan ship informed.

     The _Enterprise_ filled the Romulans’ small viewscreen—a benign enemy in the alien’s web.

     “Hailing frequency. _Enterprise_ from _Cresas._ Sub-Commander Tlazal requests you reduce speed in preparation for boarding.”

     “No response, sir.”

     Tlazal stood in place, unmoved. “Try again. Direct the request to Commander Spock.”

     The junior officer bent over his console a moment then sat back. “Still no response.”

     “Try visual contact,” the commander ordered, curtly.

     Once more the other officer attempted contact, twisting every dial at his console. A faint image of _The Enterprise_ Bridge sharpened into sight, the entire crew could see it was deserted.

     “Prepare landing part,” Tlazal commanded.

     Centurion Razal came to his superior’s side. “Uh, Sub-Commander, this might be a trick. Surely, it cannot be so simple.”

     “True,” the other voiced slyly. “We shall be well-armed.”

    

     Five Romulans materialized on Deck Six of the Federation ship—a deserted Deck Six. These warriors tried one closed door and then others, all locked tight. The Main Transporter Room was likewise empty.

     “They could not have vanished!” Tlazal shouted. “They must be somewhere!”

     The boarding part entered the detention area—a steel wall fell to block their advance. They turned—a force field activated, further deterring the men, Spock, Scott and McCoy staring at the Romulans from the other side.

 

     Spock, dressed as a Romulan centurion—a disguise he easily affected—materialized in the side corridor of the Romulan detention area aboard the _Cresas_ , crept up silently behind the single guard, and with his traditional neck pinch, subdued him. Then he preceded to neutralize the force field holding Kirk and Uhura prisoner. With them released, the three rounded a corridor corner, communicated with _The Enterprise_ , and were beamed aboard. It all seemed too easy.

 

     The Federation starship received its officers in relief. At once, Kirk secured ship-to-ship frequency with the Romulan bird-of-prey, speaking to the young Romulan left in command.

     “We have your commanding officer. If you wish for his return, hold your fire. He will be released once we are into Federation space.”

     “And, if we follow, do we have your word not to fire upon us?”

     “I agree.”

     “Then, I give you _my_ word.”

    

     Once back in Federation territory, the hostages were returned to the _Cresas_ , which turned and made a quick retreat for the safety of its own space.

     McCoy turned to Spock, who was perusing his instruments in complete silence. “How did you know the Captain and Uhura were on that particular ship, Spock?”

     “Quite elementary, Doctor,” said the Vulcan, straightening. “After all, I had been programmed by Azoth to know that exact fact, they had planned for the _Enterprise_ to be turned over to the Romulans at that precise point in space.”

     “But,” Kirk put in, turning his attention to the conversation, “if you were programmed, how were you able to overcome Azoth’s control and turn the Romulans’ plan against them?”

     “Captain, while the Romulans are quite like the Vulcans, as far as heredity is concerned, they have much to learn of our mutual variations. For, it is virtually impossible to make any Vulcan behave against his natural tendencies, the same as when one is hypnotized, it is impossible for him to go against his nature. In essence, that is all Azoth’s control amounts to—hypnotism.”

     “So,” McCoy asked, “how do you explain allowing yourself to be captured by the Romulans in the first place, Spock?”

     “A most interesting question, Doctor,” answered the Vulcan, eyebrows raised in wonder, “one I have often asked myself since it happened. It seems I was gullible enough to allow myself to take an innocent tour of Science Complex’s facilities, quite alone, my only escort being a visiting Andorian.”

     “Probably the same Andorian who gave me a tour of that dark alley,” remarked Kirk.

    “Quite possible. At any rate, I admit I was tricked into the fate which befell me. Really quite foolish.”      Kirk looked at McCoy whose open mouth indicated his preparing to comment on Spock’s last remarks, with an expression of his own which cancelled the physician’s undoubtedly pointed ruse.

     Instead, the doctor said in all honesty, “Well, Spock, just see it doesn’t happen again,” and clapped him on the shoulder. “We really missed you.”

     “Indeed, Doctor.” The Vulcan regarded the man’s hand still on his shoulder. “I find that quite…fascinating.”

     McCoy removed his hand, as though he’d touched ice and turned to leave.

     Kirk ordered, “Ahead, Warp Four, Mr. Sul. Let’s get this bird back to Base Ten.”

     “Starbase Ten at Warp Four, sir.”

     The First Officer watched McCoy leave the Bridge, then, still a bit bemused, swiveled back to his Science Station. Suddenly, he turned from his scanner.

     “Captain, we have been assigned on mission to Magnus Eight. We cannot return to Starbase Ten.”

     Kirk wrinkled his brow. “Magnus Eight? Whatever for?”

     “The Eusiban Ambassador is terminally ill,” said Spock, straightening, “and wishes to die on his own planet. However, since Magnus and Eusib are at opposite ends of the Galaxy, the fastest means possible must be employed to transfer him.”

     “Well, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk said, “set course for Magnus Eight.”

     The young Russian navigator smiled and glanced to Sulu who smiled, as well. “Course already plotted and set in, sir.”

     “Ahead, Warp Five, then,” ordered Kirk with a forward movement of his yellow-sleeved arm.

     “Initiating Warp Five,” Sulu replied, and, once more the _Enterprise_ was off on one of its numerous, unpredictable missions.

 

The End

 

 

 

    

   

    

    

    


End file.
